“I have something to attend to I am unable to ignore, but I will be back to discuss the other reasons for your restraints. The more…pleasurable ones.”
She peered after him as he strode from the room, not at all distracted by the other reasons he referenced. He’d done it to address her upset reaction, and indeed she had established a little more control. She already knew what he alluded to and hadn’t pulled any punches when she called him a pervert. Though he’d have to go a long way to top the Juxtant… She yanked her thoughts away from that direction and focused on the fact he’d gotten into her head after only two days. There had to be something else operating here. Hadn’t she thought that earlier? She cast her mind back to all those briefings she’d attended and flipped through any and all extraneous information she’d stored in her brain in regard to the Shadalla. But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with anything regarding mind control or Shadalla mating rituals.
****
Vayne cursed again, this time far louder, as he loped toward the bridge access. Leric would have spoken the old language—one not easily translated by the universal translator—for good reason, and he hadn’t used Neira’s name. Called her the sovereign’s chosen. But the obvious importance of the summons resonated in Leric’s voice. His exec was facing aft when Vayne burst onto the bridge, and whirled around, nodding in acknowledgment and respect.
“Sovereign, we’ve been monitoring as usual, and we didn’t expect anything but picked up a long-range message from Captain Ristos. It’s not completely clear, but he sends a warning. The Outriders of the Astris made extraordinary efforts to run him down, and he was nearly apprehended. It apparently took him some time to locate and secure the emergency pod he pursued, and it gave them the opportunity to get closer than one might expect.”
“And what does this have to do with my chosen?” Vayne heard the deadly rage threading through his quiet question as his instincts kicked in, and so did Leric by the way his eyebrows shot up.
“The passenger on the pod provided some information about her, Sovereign, including her last name and some rumors, perhaps some facts. She was military as you believed, and discharged, but her superiors appear reluctant to lose sight of her. At least that is the reasoning suggested by the pirate captain. The cargo he, ah, liberated, negates such efforts of determined pursuit. It is easily replaced.”
“Our Captain Ristos is an intelligent man,” Vayne mused. “I tend to follow his reasoning. Unless one of the other females is connected in some way that the Home World would be so tenacious?”
Leric shrugged. “Ristos scanned the passenger manifest along with the cargo and was able to break the encryption. I accept responsibility for failing to even think of it.”
“You had good reason, Leric. Your apology is noted.” Vayne wouldn’t hold the male’s distraction against him, considering his own.
His exec inclined his head before continuing. “Your chosen was traveling under a different name, so perhaps that is why she is the only one with scanty information on her file, and you are aware how the Home World gathers every attainable piece of data on its inhabitants. I have begun the process of working through the data we…obtained…during out stint there.”
Vayne ignored Leric’s reference to the espionage the Shadalla had carried out on the poorly protected informational centers of the Home World during the treaty negotiations. The information had served them well, and continued to stream to Nibiru. It would take time to access it on the Tomodr. “And does Ristos believe the Outriders will widen the search or have an inkling of our involvement in the hijacking?”
The Tomodr was a fine warship, but they were still a considerable distance from Nibiru. And there was a large number of Outriders, ideal for both defense and offense. He mentally chastised himself for taking the slower route home but had hoped for additional time with Neira, for the holding period to take place within the confines of the ship. Where she would have fewer distractions and more reason to allow his attentions.
“He didn’t say. The message is over a day old, and there’s been nothing since.”
“The captain took a risk to even send it,” Vayne mused.
“And we may have given the Outriders a hint we can ill afford, should they track it,” Leric pointed out. “But it apparently seemed worth the hazard. There is more here than meets the eye.”
“Take us through the Geer Falls, with all possible speed,” Vayne instructed without commenting on his exec’s assessment. “And tell me everything you learned to date about my chosen, before we make our plans.”
****
Neira was asleep again when he let himself into his cabin. Already he knew the slight noises she made in slumber and his hearts ached with tenderness before the surge of protectiveness pushed him to sit beside her. He’d spent considerable time in the exercise room after she’d refused him, working his body hard on both the weights and resistance machines. Not accustomed to being denied—or thwarted—it had taken all of his control to leave her and adhere to Shadalla customs, rather than prove to her then and there that they were meant for one another. He had total faith in his ability to seduce her but forced himself to respect the holding period. The exercise room still held her scent, and the memory of her supple body under his own as he took her down during their sparring tended to undermine his efforts.
His pheromones, produced in much higher quantity for his chosen, were already having an effect on her, despite her harsh rejection. He suspected she fought another, very different battle, and he was caught in the fallout of her shored up defenses. She was very well defended, indeed.
The Shadalla had evolved far past their ancestors and their hated cousins, features becoming more humanoid as they left behind many of their animalistic proclivities, and as qualities of mercy and empathy developed in their race. It made them better fighters and conquerors, able to form alliances with other worlds instead of grinding them beneath boot heels, raping and pillaging like the Juxtant. But they were still predators on the battlefield and when it came to seeking and securing a mate, hence the holding period. It kept Shadalla males’ beasts in check as they wooed and made their chosen mate both dependent and thoroughly attached before the passion was unleashed on them. But by the great gods it was trying his patience.
To his knowledge, no female withstood a mate past the thirty days of holding, most conceding in the first week. Vayne grimaced. Was it fitting that as a royal he would be forced to wait and prove his restraint as a so-called better man by the nature of his bloodline? He refused to entertain the thought Neira could withstand him and he’d lose her. Thirty days counting down.
Peering down at her in the dim lighting, he studied her features, the usual no-nonsense set of her mouth now relaxed and sweet above that firm chin. He longed to trace the pert slant of her nose and along her high cheekbones, nearly hidden by the sweep of long, dark lashes. Neira Grekov. Russian descent, according to the history files, and had she been born a few centuries ago, likely the daughter of an influential Russian aristocrat. Now a soldier. Ex-soldier, he reminded himself. And perhaps not truly discharged. Leric had also suggested she might be a spy, craftily planted aboard the Astris, but Vayne now knew differently. His intuition never failed him, despite his earlier musings.
He hoped to encourage her to grow her silky hair long, although in truth she would come to deny him nothing in time. It was the nature of their kind to mate, then for the female to choose only what her male would prefer, to please with compliance and submission. The idea was vaguely unpalatable, and he squinted in response, then pushed the discomfort away. Events would continue to unfold as they had done for eons, and not even the sovereign could change that. Females were even more valuable now, so highly prized, and it was both necessity and tradition to protect them, hence the manner in which the joining worked. Total submission and surrender was inevitable. And you absorbed Asula until absolutely nothing remained of her and she faded from you. Perhaps her only, but final, act of defiance.<
br />
Vayne stood abruptly and flexed his shoulders. Asula was different from Neira. Their joining had been politically optimum despite his lack of interest in her, and the fact was she wasn’t suitable for someone so strong-willed as him. She would not have faded had she been matched with another, and in truth the hormonal response to make her his chosen had been intentionally manipulated by the scientists. Thinking to fool nature. He ground his teeth when he considered how many such matches had turned out, and mentally he cursed the Home World and its genetic weapon that drove the Shadalla to such measures. He could identify with Neira’s rage over feeling powerless. Well, that couldn’t be helped.
She was awake now, responding to his angst, her breathing light and quick. He told himself it wasn’t only her training that made her open her eyes, but that she felt him, for he could move quieter than a whisper.
“We must talk, little warrior.”
“About?”
How he regretted the caution coloring her tone. Calling for more light, he waited as the computer adjusted the settings, then retrieved the chair he had sat on earlier. He debated about releasing Neira but had no way of knowing how she would react. Thinking it better that he be able to closely examine her expressions rather than guard against attack, he urged her to sit sideways, using the slack in the tether to lower her hands to her lap. She blinked at him before donning that aloof warrior mask, but she didn’t resist when he tucked the cover around her shoulders.
“I will tell you what I have learned and ask that you not prevaricate. There are twelve other females on this ship who assume the same risk. And no, it is not I, not the Shadalla who threaten.”
The blood drained from her face and her eyes widened before she gave him one of those nods he expected to become quite familiar with. Vids he’d viewed of her heritage flashed in his brain and he suppressed a smile at the thought of her in furs and diamonds, looking imperiously at her subjects. How he wished this conversation wasn’t necessary, because he sensed a dreadful outcome.
“You are Neira Grekov, formerly of the Orion Marines, a sergeant, broken from the rank of captain for reasons I haven’t yet been able to determine. You were missing in action nearly two years ago toward the end of the suppression of the Juxtant, in one of the final land battles on Mars. You were rescued by chance on Zores, returned home and honorably discharged. There is no record of you leaving the Home World on the Astris, but rather a Neira Graheme, bound for one of the mining planets in the outer quadrant.”
Her face was like stone, amazing eyes blank but for the dilated pupils, her lips nearly white. Those lips parted and she clearly forced a response past them. “That is accurate.”
“Except for what it doesn’t say.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Neira. Little warrior. We are being pursued, or at the very least, hunted. And not because of some replaceable cargo.”
“You robbed a passenger ship,” she pointed out, but there was no inflection in her tone. Vayne was reminded again of a leicat, although he doubted even the feline could hold so steady and immobile in the face of him.
“Don’t dissemble.” He made sure his voice snapped authoritatively, and she flinched infinitesimally. “Must I ask why you are being sought?”
“Me?” Her color was a bit better, a faint flush stroking her cheeks, and her mouth was nearly that rich red again. “That makes no sense.”
He stared into her eyes, and she met him glare for glare. So perhaps she didn’t know, the confusion reflected earlier in the tawny depths replaced with stark truth. His recital of her dossier had badly upset her, though, and it was something he’d have to explore later, for he sensed it was the key to her ability to continue to refuse him.
“It might make no sense, but yours was the only file stored on the Astris that lacked information. The rest read like an open book. And there is the matter of you traveling under a different name.”
She tilted her head and he knew she was working it through. “I wanted anonymity. After the media coverage. So the captain agreed to modify things a little. I answered to Neira, and I doubt anyone inquired after my other name. So perhaps there is someone else they want, hiding in plain sight. The files on the Astris are only as complete as the people who programmed them. And because of my former…profession, it wouldn’t surprise me that the information was frugal.”
Everything she said made sense and he wished for it to be true. “Do you know the other women on board?”
“Not well. Vicky. The other two not at all. There was another woman. Toya.” She stopped speaking and her eyes narrowed.
“Neira?”
“She escaped on a pod. I saw her go.”
“The pirate ship has her.”
“Then perhaps it’s about her, or one of the others on board here.”
“What is there about her that bothers you?”
Shrugging, she obviously formulated an answer, but he watched her closely. Neira was cudgeling her memory, not building a lie. “She was in everybody’s business and wanted me to take an escape pod with her. She was most insistent and then she broke and ran. It didn’t fit with what I knew of her. But then I’ve lost so many of my skills I could easily be wrong.”
Reflecting on how she’d held large men at bay, he doubted it, but she was referring to her assessment skills, he thought. “She was the one who told the pirate captain about you.”
“I still don’t understand. You mean you knew all of this—from the pirates?”
He shook his head. “Only the bare bones. But you were the only one she could think of who might be worth the time and effort of nine Outriders jumping in hot pursuit of the pirates.”
“She might be painting a false trail.”
With his recollection of Captain Ristos, he had reservations. The man would have no difficulty eliciting information, even if he suspected the man wouldn’t have had to employ time-honored tactics. Not with a woman. Neira read his expression of doubt.
“I assure you, Sovereign. My former employer was thrilled to see the last of me.” There was no mistaking the bitter satisfaction in her voice, and he stayed quiet.
****
She thought she would pass out when confronted with a synopsis of her life by the last person—alien—she could have imagined would possess that information. Just how much of a data base did the Shadalla have? He said he knew Earth history, and his turns of phrase, as well as use of slang, was dead-on, if sometimes quite dated, but still… And he was still looking at her, into her, as though determined to pull out all her secrets. But the Outriders weren’t looking for her. She had nothing anyone wanted, knew nothing. If the military honored their promise and left her alone—her thoughts staggered to a dead halt. The sovereign didn’t know how she’d obtained her discharge, and he’d had one thing wrong.
“What is it, Neira?” There was urgency in his tone, but it was also gentle and caressed her senses.
Maybe the part about the discharge didn’t matter. Alexi was a nobody, unless his execution could be fanned to a flame and incite the public. But the other… “I wasn’t rescued on Zores.” The words escaped despite her. She needed to tell him, couldn’t fight it any longer.
“The Juxtant’s allies didn’t have you?” he asked, awareness darkening his handsome face.
“No,” she whispered, again unable to lie to him. “Alexi—Petrov and I were found by a raiding party on Ureses. Quite accidentally when a shield collapsed and they stumbled on the…lair.”
The room tilted crazily as the last of her barriers tumbled down like that shield. They were undermined by this alien’s intensity, her body’s attraction to him and the sense of something far bigger than her, encroaching to swallow her whole. She’d been clinging to control since being brought on board and no longer had the strength to hold on. Her entire being told her to let him take the burden.
She could hear him faintly over the roaring in her ears, calling out her name, then a fumbling at her hands as she keeled
over sideways. All that time learning to forget drained away, and she allowed the darkness filled with memories to sweep her under.
“So, the soldier bitch continues to resist, Modeed?” The whining voice of Somar pierced through the pain and Neira tensed despite herself. She’d long since learned that any response drew more unwelcome attention.
“She does,” agreed Modeed, her very own private torturer nodding at his superior. “Although at this stage of the war I doubt whatever she holds will be helpful, sir.”
“You are probably right. We have retreated to our last line, and we’ll be taking off within hours. The Zorians will cover our retreat. The Shadalla have come to bolster Earth forces and we all know what that means.” Somar made an unpleasant barking sound as he casually ran his long nails up her exposed flank. She could feel the flesh score and part beneath the razor sharp edges. “Bring this one, and the willowy male. They will provide many hours of amusement. Kill the others.”
The futile lunge against the shackles, an attempt to get her hands around Somar’s throat and squeeze until his pupilless eyes popped, earned her another burst of agonizing energy from the devices attached to her temples. She’d bitten her lips bloody to prevent her screams—and any sharing of the updated battle plans—but a cry of pain escaped this time before Modeed shut it off. He hovered, waiting for her scrambled mind to recover before he acted on his orders, ever the sadist.
No amount of disparaging self-talk kept her eyes open as he went from table to table, dispatching—murdering—the other prisoners, all men and women under her immediate command. Nineteen of them, all her responsibility. She couldn’t close off her ears, however, and the horrible sounds of their deaths imprinted in her brain, already addled by the torture. The stench made her gorge rise, and it was only Modeed’s precipitous return that unfortunately saved her. He’d turned her enough in the restraints that she didn’t choke to death on her own vomit, and that was the cruelest torture of all.
Waking up in a light and airy room several lifetimes later, dressed in clean clothing, her hair washed and her body healed and cleansed, had instilled some kind of curious hope. She dared to think she’d been rescued, but then sank into the depths of hopelessness when she recalled what had transpired in that battle on Mars. And how she’d survived and her troops had not. She’d followed orders this time, having learned her lesson while a captain. It didn’t matter that she had possessed firsthand intelligence back then, and disregarded the brass’ instructions, winning a strategic choke point on one of Neptune’s moons. Free thinking wasn’t allowed and she’d been demoted to sergeant. Her troops knew the truth and that had been enough for her—until Mars. Once again the intel had been faulty and she’d led her troops into a trap, back to being a good soldier. They’d acquitted themselves well against the Juxtant and their allies, the Zorians, but in the end over half had died and the rest captured.
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